Hold the Baby

I don't want to hold your baby.

It's not that I don't like babies. I can recognize their cuteness as well as the next guy. It's just that I've never been one of those people who sees a baby and says: "Ooh! Can I hold him?"

So of course this means that babies love me. It's like cats. If a group of people enters a home containing a cat, the cat will know right away which visitor hates cats and then only want to go sit on that person's head.

People will often say that babies or animals love them as a type of brag. The theory is that babies and animals know who the "good" people are, so if these innocent creatures love you, you must be on par with Mother Teresa. This is a false conclusion. I think babies like people who don't freak them out. Think back to when you were a small child. Remember the old lady who always wanted to squish your cheeks or pick you up or give you sloppy kisses? Scary, right? Can't you just see her swooping in on you?

Now picture this. I am sitting at the gate in the airport waiting several hundreds of hours for my flight. There is a 3-year-old toddling around. Her exhausted parents are chasing after her, feeding her Cheerios, letting her suck on their iPhones. They momentarily collapse in despair. She toddles my way. The baby and I make eye contact.

What do I do? I make a face. Quick. Subtle. Not a big oogly, woogly face. Just a little raise of one eyebrow. Or maybe a sly smirk or knowing nod. No one else sees. The baby freezes in her tracks. She keeps staring at my face. Will it happen again? No. That's it. We've made a spiritual connection that leaves me free of any miniature-person body fluids and/or hair pulling. No need to hold the baby.

But now the baby is intrigued. She comes closer. She offers me her Cheerios and her parents' cellphones. Does this mean I'm a saint? Well, hmm. I didn't accept the cellphones, so there's that.